


Sex on the Beach

by tactlessCreator



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AltRoxy, Dream Bubble Shenanigians, F/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:37:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1427053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tactlessCreator/pseuds/tactlessCreator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ahhahah the joke is they didn't have sex on the beach because trying to write this made it horribly apparent to me that I can't write porn. Eridan finds a dead Roxy in dream bubbles, they get drunk and make out, also Roxy is sad for reasons badly explained.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex on the Beach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mamestuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamestuck/gifts).



It’s as a silhouette on the horizon that you first see her. Hunched over and leaning against a brick wall in the middle of the shadowy remains of the memories of an empty city, a shifting black silhouette against the bright gold of the rising sun.

Even from a distance you are fairly sure you hadn’t come across her before in the dream bubbles, with her white hair and skin the colour of sunbaked ground marking her as distinctly alien. The dream bubbles were full of new faces, though you had soon come to learn that most were really only rehashes of old ones. 

Upon reaching her you stop, lean against the warm wall and slowly slide down to sit beside her. She flashes you a grin. Clear white eyes. You wonder how she died. 

You wait for her to say something, but it seems the silence is yours to break.  
“What’s that?” you ask at last, gesturing to the bottle she’s nursing in her lap.

“Shit you drink when you hate yourself” her voice is slurred and full of laughter, and it doesn’t at all match her words. 

“You hate yourself buddy?” she asks grinning at you almost challengingly like self-pity is a game she seriously thinks she can beat you at. She holds out the clear bottle of whatever it is.  
“Only self loathing arseholes allowed at the self loathing arsehole party”

You take it.

“Thought so, it’s defs the hair; no one has hair like that unless they listen to whiney boy bands and want to forget who they are.”

You are vaguely miffed by the slight on your hair, but you let it go. You’ve been letting a lot of things go of late. It’s hard to hold on to things in the dream bubbles.

You open the bottle, giving it a cautious sniff and quickly draw away as the smell gives you a better idea of what kind of self-loathing arsehole would drink the shit. She laughs, and you scowl back at her, taking a determined gulp, a gesture that fails to impress when you end up spitting half the liquid out.

“Pace yourself bad boy,” she says between giggles,  
“Vodka’s not exactly a beginners drink.”

You glare back at her and then take an experimental sip, this time noticing the strange warm feeling spreading through your chest.

“So is this some kind of torture you humans like to inflict upon yourselves?”

“Sorta I suppose, it does kill off brain cells. But the main purpose is to get really good at keeping a straight face while you drink it, so you can like, talk about how it has essence of green peppers and a hint of the evening breeze and shit. Then you get to have a job writing labels and being Sauvé at parties”

You eye the bottle curiously and take another sip, after which you decide Earth’s evening breeze tastes like shit. 

“If you don’t mind tellin’ where in all hells are we?” the world around you keeps shifting and changing. Different streets flashing by. Random memories continuously fitting together and breaking apart. 

“It’s where I used to live. Want to go somewhere else though? Hate this place here; used to be so full of cute buddies when I was still alive and shit. Too quiet now.” You think her smile would be pretty cute if it wasn’t for the ghost eyes making it slightly nightmarish. 

“If you insist” you stand up and offer her a hand, which she uses to ungracefully haul herself up.

“Used to know this place like the back of my hand, but my memories sorta fucked from that stuff” she says, nodding at the bottle,  
“Probably why it keeps shifting like it’s tryna warn me of the hangover to come”

“I could take you some place stable, if that’s what your askin’” you offer.

“Sounds great, you know any? All my memories are shit”

“I’ve got a few I can find well enough.”

The two of you begin walking, both of you taking turns drinking from the bottle of horrible human stuff as you lead her through the dream bubble. Though while you take cautious sips she seems unperturbed by the flavor, and soon you find yourself assisting her in walking straight.

Stepping into your own memories always makes you dizzy, like they’re being extracted from inside you to fill your surroundings. White light marks the bridge between bubbles, though it seems somewhat brighter then usual. As soon as you hear the gentle sound of water lapping against the shore you know you’ve come to the right place. 

The beach stretches out as far as the eye can see, and the sky begins to fill itself with stars. While the sand and the shells remain constant; except for a few constellations the stars shift and dance in the sky and the sea is a dark expanse of nothingness. You never knew the sea and sky as well as the sand under your feet. 

The girl pulls herself away from you, wandering in circles staring up at the stars, mouth open in dazed wonder before coming to an uncertain stop and throwing herself down on the sand,  
“Holy shit, this place is awesome, is this were you aliens come from?”

You take off your cape, carefully rolling it up before you sit down beside her,  
“Most of the others lived further inland, only seadwellers and highbloods round here.”

“Seadwellers are the aliens with the freaky fins like you right?”

You flutter them, annoyed enough by her comment to reply haughtily  
“They mark our status as royalty”

“Ooh! Like alien kings and queens and stuff!” although she doesn’t look half as impressed as you feel she should, more excited at the knew piece of information.

“Can I touch them?” She asks leaning in close enough for you to smell the drink on her breathe,

“I think we should be at least on a name to name basis don’t you?” you answer nervously.

She bonks herself on the head,  
“Oh my God! We don’t even know each other’s names! Like rule number one of corrupting cute alien dudes is to at least know their name, and tell them your name is something super sexy and mysterious” she fumbles slightly of the word mysterious, repeating it until she gets it right. 

At the reference to you as cute your face goes rather purple. 

“Uh yeah, I’m pretty sure masters of the truest sciences are also suppose to impart that sorta thing upon lovely alien girls like yourself” you answer, pulling away slightly.

“I’m Eridan”

“Well Mr. Alien Master of the Truest Sciences, I’m Roxy Lalonde” at the mention of her own name her smile falters slightly and she pauses, slowing her voice to make sure she manages to round off each syllables correctly in her addled state.  
“Well I’m not the real Roxy I suppose; I’m just a version of her that managed to get all my friends killed. So now I’m stuck here while a version of me who’s not such a fuck up get’s to be alive and not suck and shit” she laughs, but this time the bitterness of her words seeps through, making her voice crack slightly.

Your brain feels like the worlds moving to fast for you to catch up with it all, and so immediate solutions for comforting pretty alien girls you just met aren’t exactly coming to you easily. For a moment the idea of revealing what got you your one way ticket to the land of the dead crosses your mind, but you quickly discard it, sympathy was something the dream bubbles had taught you not to count on. So you decide that the best option is probably to kiss her, which you do. 

It’s clumsy and awkward and you both stink of whatever it is you were drinking, but your minds to fogged up to care about the way your fangs and her block like human teeth don’t seem to be made to meet or the fact that you’d spent the majority of the last six sweeps thinking your first kiss was going to taste of salt and sea. It’s tentative at first, before she answers it hungrily and with a lot more skill, her arms rapping round your neck, her fingers forming fists in your hair. 

You pull away, and she grins and you, all creepy smiles again.  
“I like you Rox, I know I don’t know you all that well, but plenty ‘a people have fucked up far worse then you in these hell holes”  
You hope she never has to find out you’re one of them.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so sorry omg. Why in hell is sexy stoic Eridan and teary depressed drunken Roxy a thing that exists. No one wants this, no one came here for this, so then why are we all here staring at the charred remains of what was initially a lovely prompt.


End file.
